End To The Curse
by Warriorsong
Summary: REVERSIONED. Tomb Raider / Wolverine Crossover. On his way north to settle some business, Logan is tracked by a famous archaelogist. They team up, after all last time the Wendigo nearly killed him and to save it, he'll need help.


**END TO THE CURSE**

R E V E R S I O N E D

A Wolverine / Tomb Raider Crossover Fan Fiction

By Nicholas Clark (Warriorsong)

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Part One

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The spur of granite punched its way out of the thick temperate forest to stand above it like a sentinel. The stone resembled a triangle, sloped from the south to a sheer drop on the north face. The trees hemmed their earthen guardian on all sides, climbing up its back, only the narrow tip of rock above their lofty heights.

The wind was chill yet the figure that sat crouched on the edge of the rock face seemed at home. His hands were between his knees resting with his feet on the edge. He looked like a cat, a predator surveying his domain.

The man known as Logan had missed this place, this vast unspoiled. His muscles switched in his shoulder under the worn brown leather jacket, scuff marks and burns decorating its weathered texture. The denim of his equally worn jeans rubbed slightly as his legs tensed, the realigning of his body finishing with a puff of rich cigar smoke billowing over his shoulder. His mane of hair, combed down in the crown yet swept back at the sides, moved gently in the breeze, his eyes alert yet tensed, framed by his nose and bushy mutton-chop sideburns. The cigar was clenched between teeth, canines prominent.

Thoughts came with clarity here; a clarity that seemed lost when he was submerged in the world of mutants and globalesque catastrophes. Here he could be him, not what was expected, just him, to be. Yet the world followed him, whether he wanted it or not.

And followed he was. He had smelt her some time ago, could hear her passage and had marked the reactions of the wildlife in the area. He was like them, the animals, and she, he knew it was a she because of her scent, she was a skilled tracker.

So, he had stopped. Here, on the ridge he always came too, before venturing deeper into the Canadian wilds. He had lit a cigar, and waited. With him unmoving and his gaze towards a sheer drop, the one following would be likely to make herself known. If not, he could lose her simply in the brush, moving like his predatorial namesake.

He didn't like being followed. That and he was curious that she had managed to keep up.

He didn't have to wait long.

The wind had shifted suddenly, a small eddy in the wind bringing her scent to him, feminine and cautious, not the slick odour of fear sweat he would have expected. The quiet, almost indefinable scuff of a thick-soled boot on rock and the semi audible click of a well-oiled firearm, followed by the faint tang of cordite.

Logan didn't move. He could be gone, over the edge and into the canopy within seconds. He'd done it before.

Another cloud of cigar smoke billowed over his shoulder to dance in the air. He could barely make out the controlled breathing. The spur entered the forest some ten metres behind him, plunging straight into the primordial trees, sparse shrubs and bushes providing a small verge.

Another billow of smoke.

"You may as well come out lady, I know you're there, and it'll save us both a heap'a trouble," he said, his gruff voice, easily carrying the distance behind him to the female's ears.

Logan heard a sharp intake of breath before it resumed its steady rhythm. Other than that, nothing.

Another puff of smoke wafted over his shoulder and slowly, he raised his arms, moving them from between his legs and out to his sides, before curling them behind his head and slowly straightening his legs. Now upright and hands on his neck, Logan again spoke.

"I don't see that there's any problem here. So I'm just gonna turn around..."

He left the sentence unfinished, hoping that the woman would finish it for him, establishing a level playing field. The sound of another gun, being readied, clearly showed that she wished to hold all the cards. Logan's lips twisted slightly in a small sardonic smile. He could bluff this; he had a good poker face. The female obviously thought she had the better hand, Logan's backpack was off to the side, out of his reach, any weapon within, useless.

Logan waited, some scuffing and finally, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

The voice was rich and musical, British from the accent. The pronunciation indicated that the individual had had a quality education, most likely private schooling, which indicated money.

"I think I should be askin the questions. I don't come inta your backyard and make demands."

"Yes but you appear unarmed and this is a dangerous place, which begs the question what are you hiding?"

Logan smiled again. The lady had spunk.

"My name ain't important, just up here to finish off some unfinished business with a local."

"Sounds ominous for the local." It wasn't a question; it was clearly a statement. "And I believe that the name is important."

"S'hardly beneficial to introduce yourself at gunpoint."

Logan could hear the figure taking steps backwards, her breathing still a steady beat.

"Turn around. Slowly."

Logan breathed out, the thick smoke following and, his hands still behind his head, turned to face the female.

At gunpoint, the small muscled Canadian, took in the sight before him. The woman was very attractive by any standards, tallish, but not gangly, wearing a pair of cargo shorts, and a lime green shirt underneath, thick wool lined flight jacket, the straps of a small knapsack coming over her shoulders. Her belt was thick and dark, two holsters on her hips, which in turn were tethered to her legs by strands of leather. Her boots her thick and came to just below her knee, the thick white socks protruding over the top. One boot had a sheathe attached, the hilt of a hunting knife, on the outside of her leg. Over her shoulder, the stock of a shotgun could be seen. Her face was beautiful, finely built, a pair of red tinted sunglasses resting on her delicate nose. Her head was crowned with rich chocolate hair, pulled back, the end of a thick braid swaying. Logan could see it swinging gently by the nape of her neck, behind the collar of her jacket

What caught Logan's attention, however were the hands, covered black fingerless gloves and holding two very shiny, very deadly magnum pistols.

While he looked her over, she in turn looked him over. He was short, shorter than her by some four inches at least. His hair was in a flat down, swept back style, making the side parts look like ears of some kind, flared. The thick mutton-chop sideburns and stubbled chin surrounded a gruff face that matched his voice, yet his eyes showed hidden depths, both of darkness and light. A rapidly extinguishing cigar was between his lips. The worn brown leather jacket he wore looked barely functional and the black T-shirt looked to be straining to cover his well-developed chest and torso. His denim jeans, were held up by a thick belt, a dented and scuffed cowboy style buckle adorning the leather strip. His boots were thick, worn and came to his ankle. His pack lay an equal distance between the pair, on her right, and looked half-empty.

The looked at each other for a minute and the woman silently holster one of the weapons, leaving her right hand free.

"Who are you?" she again asked.

Logan couldn't see much point in withholding; his name wouldn't do her much good anyway.

"Logan."

"Logan who?"

"Just Logan"

"Well Mr. Logan, what exactly are you doing here?"

Logan was slowly starting to lose his temper, or whatever tenuous grip he usually kept it under. This British woman had come to his place, accosted him at gunpoint and demanded he tell her what he was doing. So, he didn't reply.

The woman looked at him impatiently. "Well?"

"Well what," Logan barked, "who are you and what are you doing in my place? Why should I talk if you ain't gonna reciprocate."

The woman seemed to think about this and sighed. She didn't really want to talk to this man, but he was heading in the same direction she was and frankly, she wasn't enthusiastic about saving him should things get out of hand.

"My name is Lara Croft. I am an archaeologist."

Logan grinned. He had heard that name before, read about in it a newspaper or something. Press called this lady 'Tomb Raider'. She had done some interesting things, mainly in Egypt and so forth. Her name had come up when he had been looking for a certain individual in that part of the world. An individual who he needed to repay for something.

"I take it you are familiar with my name," again a statement. "Kindly throw me your backpack." The request was followed up by her magnum waggling at him.

Logan took a few tentative steps towards his backpack, slowly reaching down with one hand. He grasped the backpack and threw it to the woman. She was smart. She had holstered the gun in the hand nearest to the pack, that way he couldn't throw it over her line of fire.

Logan moved back to the edge, and sat down, both hands now out from behind his head. He pulled his lighter from his inside jacket pocket and light the now extinguished cigar.

Ms. Croft had knelt down; her pistol still pointed at him, and was rummaging through his backpack. He looked at her under his bushy eyebrows and half grinned.

As the flint struck she looked at him "Smoking kills you know?"

Logan just shrugged and waited for what he hopped would be an amusing next few minutes.

Sure enough, Ms. Croft had began to empty out his backpack, the look on her face going from confusion as she pulled his boots out, the deep blue of the material contrasting with the black flared 'ears', to outright consternation as she removed his cowl, the yellow crown bright against the rest of the fabric and the environs in general.

Ms. Croft straightened up and aimed her gun at him again, more attentive this time.

"I really do hope those aren't for a pyjama party."

Twisting the knife, so to speak, Logan replied, "I don't wear pyjamas."

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After initial doubts on both sides, the two had sat down across from one another and had began what could only be described as a battle of wills. Lara was very annoyed at this stage. The man with the funny taste in clothes was to her knowledge, one of the X-Men, a mutant strike team which dealt with terrorism and so forth that affected both mutants and humans. They received bad publicity, both in America and Europe, yet to Lara it was simple bigotry, prejudice against something they, the public and media on the majority, did not understand.

More infuriating was that he looked for all the world like he could sit and wait all day. Obviously he wanted to know what she was doing here and he was not going to be forthcoming with his explanation.

She sighed.

"I am here on the trail of a local legend. I was on its trail, when I spotted you, following the same path. Thus I followed you to deduce what you were doing here."

"Already toldja," he replied. She shuddered at his colloquialisation.

"Quite. I had been researching the creature for some time and I believe that I know where it originates. This region sees the most activity from the creature."

Logan was ill at ease. He had a feeling where this was going and he really didn't like it. Last time he had been up this way, the 'creature' as she called it, had almost killed him. Almost killed Tommy Jarmin, the little boy he had befriended.

"Care ta name th' legend, maybe I can help ya out?"

"The legend is that of The Wendigo. Legend states that it is an curse laid down by an ancient shaman saying that, 'He who tastes of human flesh...'"

"'Shall be possess'd by tha evil spirit of the Wendigo'," Logan finished the sentence for her, watching the look of surprise cross her face, and before she could interject, "that's my unfinished business."

It was now Lara's turn to wait, as she sensed a story and was silently willing the man to continue.

"Bout ten years ago I threw down with Wendi, and we've mixed it up a few times since then. Last time was about eight months back when I came up this way for a bit of down time. He remembered me and decided he wanted some payback. I came up to finish it once and for all."

Lara shrugged imperceptibly. The man was tight lipped. She couldn't blame him, being a mutant he was subject to persecution wherever he went. And now out in the middle of nowhere, he had run into her. That or he was a loner by nature, similar to her. Surprisingly he continued.

"Friend a'mine gave me a bit of information on a artefact up this way, a focus or some such for the curse. I'm gonna find it and get rid of it, bring the latest victim back to humanity."

Lara saw a glint in his eyes when he said the words 'back to humanity' but didn't say anything. Besides, she had more questions.

"Victim? You say it like its some sort of possession rather than a creature."

"It is. The creature is a primal force in the baser sense, inhabiting the body of anyone who resorts to eating human flesh, whether it be out of the need to survive or some sick compulsion, it don't discriminate. Same spirit, different body. The spirit can be passed on or expelled through magic. Time before last, friend of mine, managed to free him of its evil. Cos that guy got saved, means this Wendi's a new guy."

Logan halted. He didn't want to divulge anymore information. Both Paul Cartier and Jean Baptiste had been scarred by the experienced and haunted by what had happened to them in the time they were possessed, both had even commented that they felt some darkness still existed in the depths of their souls.

"Our boy, or at least the one from last time has a couple nasty scratches cross his face and he's missin a couple fingers off his left hand. Last time I saw our boy he was runnin off into the woods just out of North Battleford, Saskatchewan, screamin and a hollerin." Logan left out the fact that its face was on fire at the time.

Curiosity was Lara's biggest shortfall, and as such, she asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

Logan stubbed out his cigar against the harsh granite, a smile curling his lip. "Cos I ain't letting you go off up there by yourself. The Wendigo's more than ya average creature." That and with his past experiences with strong woman, he doubted she would just go home.

Lara stood up, brushing her shorts off, "What makes you think I can't handle myself?"

Logan stood also, striding quietly over to his pack and pushing his clothing back into it. He slung the pack over his shoulder and turned to face Lara.

"Cos I heal real quick, got me hyper senses and experience. And even wit all that, last time he gutted me."

Lara's mouth drooped slightly.

Logan had begun his descent into the forest. He stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"You comin or not?"

He turned back and continued walking. He could hear her gathering her equipment and fastening her pack. He could also imagine the look on her face. She could back him up and take care of Wendi once he got un-possessed. Plus, if what Michael had said was true, and Logan didn't doubt it, her being there may be beneficial to all concerned. If it had to go down like that...

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Disclaimers

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Lara Croft, Tomb Raider and all related indica are copyright by EIDOS, Core and Top Cow Comics. Wolverine is copyright by Marvel Comics and Toy Biz and was created by John Bryne and Chris Claremont. Some information taken from Wolverine issues 129 and 130 ('Survival Of The Fittest' Parts 1 and 2).

If any of this information is wrong, my most humble apologies. No copyright infringement is intended, this is merely a work of fan fiction. I am in no way affiliated to any of these companies and people and what not. Thanks for reading.

Written 13th January 2001. Compiled 13th January 2001. By Nicholas Clark (Warriorsong). Reversioned 9th January 2008. Think I might finish this one, I've got a bunch of notes I found that have enough for me to do a second part nicely.


End file.
